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Jenny Gordon Jul 2017
...the old classic "I'm forever trying to keep ahead of that freight train--"


Lo, peach-kissed fluffy white clouds sailing thence
In bluest seas oer greener Maples frail
Winds softly ply to soto voce's scale
Of whispers on a Friday evning's calmer sense,
And I'm too zonkered to but note from hence
What nudges memries long since past t'avail,
As if Mum still was waiting in betrayl
To talk and laugh while sunset yawns oer whence.
Now but's an hour 'til midnight, hark! in poor
'Scuse an explosion rocks the silence, to
Lapse into nothing.  Is't July astir
Upon suggestion?  O, what matters?  Do
We feel the changes tugging, what's as twere
To do?  Perhaps Joe shan't call.  Say I knew.  

No, this was NOT the time to sign up for basketweaving classes, deary.  *promptly laughs too much*
Jenny Gordon Jul 2017
Telling one of my older brothers about it all, from last Fall's shenanigans to now, he said, "it's sad."


Not when a summer's lengthy hours avail,
But now the blackness of night's cooler sense
Culls crickets to play serenades frogs thence
Reply in bass notes to, write in betrayl.
As Mozart's timeless strains lend that detail
Of class I did not feel ere, and lo, hence
A notion of too many years 'go, whence
I nestle like I"m twenty' gain, what's bail?
Joe's contact info.  Ha.  What is that fer,
Eh?  I've called twice, to tell him of it to
His face ("yes, if I'm gone to bed--") and were
La, texting useful, I have done that too.
Oh silence!  Friday evening's late, and's poor
To harp on that.  But how I miss who'd woo.

...I suppose the question was what exactly he labelled as sad?  I pressed him to no avail after wearing his ear off detailing it all.
Jenny Gordon Jul 2017
Funny...less that two weeks later how foreign this is.


Lo, ****** white tinged purple, for a sense
Of sorrows' keenest wailing, and so frail
To boot, lies now in state, as drying t'avail
The first petunia Joe gave me, what hence?
I wonder what the weekend shall from thence
Be, eh?  He's sposed to call.  Nor in betrayl
Does he know I'm a ******?  That detail
Waits chance to take its bow in sheer defense.
This white tank, pink-bowed floral skirt as twere
Ah, party clothes last summer when we'd brew
Espressos over beef, with wine to do
Our seance good in mid-July, was't poor
For groc'ry shopping?  I forgot.  His pure
Choice in a flowr--I can't help loving too.

*takes a low bow* I guess it/we only lasted two months.  Whatever.
Jenny Gordon Jul 2017
Dream on, Baby.  Waking up won't be fun, but whatever.


Those bubbles on my tea, as kisses' pale
Touch augur that according to the sense
Of ist tradition? and both cuppas thence
Wear crowns of...what Joe gives me--in betrayl?
I'd rather his dear lips than froth's detail,
And we're off to a start, for all intents.
Ist funny now I"m his these bubbles fence
Dawn's waking note as breakfast 'non avail?
Or how we've jumped from playful to as twere
The thing itself, 'til Dad knows what we do,
To say "you think you've got a boyfriend fer
All that, eh?"  Ya, which part is odd.  He'd woo.
It's been well-nigh two months since Joe would stir
My sheer complaisance.  And I'd love him too.

Susan Jarvis (no, I won't disclose her married name, umkididdles) generously sending me that handbook on British tea time and etc. bubbles on your tea signify kisses.
Jenny Gordon Jul 2017
(Well, I was sitting in the car that time.)


Orange Tiger Lilies in a cluster, frail
Yet nodding to soft whispers' vagrant sense
Wink as we slowly gain on whither hence,
Some tractor's clearing space for which detail?
Along the field thet prairie grasses hail
From, and when Joe has time, he calls me thence
A "doll," to net "I love you" fr'intents,
To say he'll try to call this weekend:  bail.
It's so--yes, what?  For now he'd notice fer
Whatever what I'm wearing--"is it new?"
No, what I'd worn the day he 'gan to stir
My heart with that petunia's purple.  To
That lo, he must go pick another.  Were
Fun ah, passe, I'm loving all he'd do.

Shall we now quibble over grammar is it? and challenge putting the name of those first flowers in proper caps?  *sigh*
Or wait...that was then [please note date of sonnet] and this is now.
Jenny Gordon Jul 2017
La dee....his eyes tantalized me with mysterious looks until the day I yielded.


Lo, yesterday 'bout now...we talked, from whence
What, eh?  I've dreamed of what in sheer betrayl
We might, erm, name our daughters.  Sons?  oh, they'll
Have yes, their father's name, I hope.  Ya, thence
Laugh oer my folly when Joe's not fr'intents
Yet even called or answered emails, pale
As hopes built on his kisses ist?  Detail
I dunno what, and patience is good sense.
Ah, Joe.  I love...his eyes, how frankly fer
Aught he looks into mine.  His face dear too,
Those kisses to my hand my lips as twere
Are jealous of, I'd cherish each inch to
Etern'ty if the LORD grants us.  Is't poor?
If only I could tell Joe:  I love you.

Um, I think the intro said it all.  Or what more did you desire my dear munchkins?
Jenny Gordon Jul 2017
I didn't, really.  I just walked straight up to where he was working, and tada.  


Does gloaming softly thieve what was, a sense
Of yonder haunts the fragile light gone pale,
And I see-saw on whether to avail
Me of the number Joe wrote down from hence
Or write him off as quite the fruitcake, whence
Our tete-a-tete is laughable.  Yes, they'll
Aquit him of aught, cuz I have ne bail:
Despised is, um, passe for all intents.
I am a woman.  "Lewd" is common fer
All that.  And lo, the skies don navy-blue
As nary bough stirs, traffic naught and poor.
Come, now they rock, leaves whisper lightly, to
Lapse into freighted silence.  Go assure
Yourselves.  I'll laugh tomorrow ist? at you.

Ls5- I seem to have misread his handwriting.
Jenny Gordon Jul 2017
(if not worse)


How shadows sweep across the corn in pale
Grey silence, swathes of golden warmth from hence
Askance, whileas tree clusters dimly thence
Wait.  Crows ist? like unto torpedoes scale
Descent, wings folded; cloud battalions, hale
In fluffy white, amass with half a sense
Of what's in tow.  And June for all intents
Wears age as if twas naught in each detail.
Another week yet, firewerks wink as twere
Now, cuz I had to play the fool and do
What my friends thought sae good.  Suppose twas poor,
We shall say it worked out, shall we?  Nah, to
Effect Joe was too nice.  Yet I maunt fer
All that be satisfied.  We'll swear I knew?

Well, I mean, HE said "that was brave of you..." but--

— The End —